


No More Dreams

by AvixiLynn91



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoning hope, Bloodlust, Courage, Dreams, Eileen questline, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Fear the old blood, Female Hunter, Hunting, Renewed Hope, Sacrifice, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvixiLynn91/pseuds/AvixiLynn91
Summary: A female hunter forgets what it is to be human as she loses herself to the hunt. Abandoning her emotions, she soon finds herself bested by Old Hunter Djura. Desperate to triumph, she dons the use of her femininity, but finds herself falling for the old hunter instead of wanting him dead.





	No More Dreams

_**No More Dreams**_

_**** _

 

Pity and grief often go hand-in-hand during any battle or hunt, and while they’re both uniquely useful tools to people of good faith, they have no place in the world of hunting. To feel pity is to exchange stealth and wit for being obsolete, which is precisely the very thing that is scented along with fresh blood during the hunt.

Central Yharnam had showed the young huntress no pity, and it had done very little soothe the grief churning deeply within her bowels as she swung her hunter’s axe and beheaded a few dangerous Yharnamites who surprised her in a once-empty alley.

She felt a frown forming, blush growing on her soft pink cheeks, her medium length brown, wavy hair flew backwards as a strong gust of wind breezed past her.

“You are cursed.” The fallen head spoke up to her and she shivered, wondering if the breeze indeed was the casting of the spell which was no doubt bound to doom her. Would she now be reckless and careless in her battles? Would she be hunted next?

She had so many questions, but she had been warned that asking too many questions would only draw more attention to her, and she carried on, slaughtering the whole town of Yharnam.

At first, it almost seemed like a sin; swinging first without asking questions or pondering whether some deserved to be slaughtered, even. She felt she had no choice but to go through the motions and revere everything and everyone as her nemesis, no matter what they said, no matter how they pleaded and begged, and no matter if they had children or not.

She nearly felt herself turning back and abandoning her journey when she climbed up a ladder and faced a small window with lights lit on dimly, incense burning strongly. She could see the silhouetted shadow of a young female from the other side of the window.

“Who are you?” The little voice nearly shocked her. It indeed was that of a child, no older than past her 5th birthday, the huntress thought.

“I don't know your voice, but I know that smell... Are you a hunter? Then, please, will you look for my mum? Daddy never came back from the hunt, and she went to find him, but now she's gone, too... I'm all alone... and scared..."

The huntress felt herself falling once again into the deep quagmire of pity once more. She recognized the child’s emotions as her own; grief, pity, fear, and some hope. Should she be the one to reject such an innocent, simple offer? What was a small pause or a break during her hunt? It would be a nice reprieve, after all the bloodshed and murder she had engaged in for approximately 2 hours.

“I accept, I will look for your mother, dear.” She promised, putting away her hunter’s axe. There was no need to further frighten or intimidate the young one.

"Really? Oh, thank you! My m-mum wears a red jeweled brooch. It's so big and... and beautiful. You won't miss it. Oh, I mustn't forget! If you find my mum, give her this music box!”

The huntress watched as the little girl pushed open the window, sliding only two little pale hands through it, her face still being hidden behind the thick, heavy bars and cover of the window. She offered a simple brown little music box in her hands.

“... It plays one of daddy's favorite songs. And when daddy forgets us we play it for him so he remembers. Mum's so silly, running off without it!"

The huntress wrapped her gloved hands around the little girl’s as she held the music box in her hands.

“I promise the next time I visit you, I will bring you news of your mother.”

She looked down to see the little child hold onto her hands tightly for a few moments, her little fingers finding motherly support, warmth, and love however way she could in this gruesome hunt.

“Thank you, Miss hunter!” With that, the little girl’s hands vanished back inside the shelter of her abode, and she moved away from the windows.

{~~~~~~}

The huntress toyed with the little music box all throughout her exploration in Yharnam whenever she wanted to soothe her own nerves, and still her wildly beating heart. She had left the sewers, the disgusting, monstrosity-filled dank area, and was now before a large open graveyard.

She opened the music box once again, the tune playing shortly before it ended, causing the huntress’s bright green-full eyes to shine with pleasure she took in and relished from listening to the tune.

Somewhere, a thick, gruff voice suddenly and abruptly spoke.

“Beasts all over the shop. You’ll be one of them…sooner or later.”

The huntress nearly dropped the music box, and looked up to locate the owner of the voice.

It was a very tall man dressed in Black Church Garb. He had greying hair that hung loosely under his black hat, and his eyes were covered with a tight white bandage, but in his hands, he wielded her hunter’s axe, and he had been in the midst of cleaning off the beastly heads of decomposing corpses.

The huntress walked a little closer to the man, her hunter boots clicking away until she saw a woman’s body on the rooftop behind the various gravestones nearly at the far end of the graveyard.

The woman had blonde hair tied in a tight bun, but her chest had been shredded open, blood pouring down the sides of the roof and onto the floor down below in a sickening fountain that was so like the bloodlust that had bewitched Yharnam for so long.

The huntress felt her senses flare with fear and the need to guard herself once she heard the dangerous clang of the hunter’s axe inches away from her feet.

She leapt back, and withdrew her own axe, momentarily forgetting the corpse of the woman she had just seen, and the sweet little Yharnam girl who had befriended her, and awarded her with the music box.

{~~~~~~}

It appeared that pity would be her own companion during her hunt, and she found herself detesting her pity with every thought she had, and every breath she took.

The huntress had been the victor of her last battle with an insane, blood-addled hunter named Henryk. She first learned of the man’s existence from her odd acquaintance who stood about in odd places throughout Central Yharnam, an older female hunter by the name of Eileen The Crow.

Eileen wore a beak mask and a dark feathery crow garb, but her voice was what captured the huntress when she ran into her accidentally while she was exploring. Eileen spoke in a neutral, yet very mysteriously enchanting tone of voice which held far more secrets than she was willing to admit to just anyone in her old age. She held a great deal of authority over the younger huntress, and the huntress felt compelled to take Eileen’s advice as one would a mentor. She felt she could trust Eileen, and the huntress felt Eileen would be the last person to ever fall prey to the bloodlust of the hunt.

The huntress hadn’t been expecting Eileen to jump into her battle with the mad Henryk, yet she had, and together, the two had brought down the older, taciturn hunter.

Eileen panted from exhaustion, Henryk’s blood painting the tip of the beak mask as she moved back and looked at the huntress.

“That wasn’t necessary of you, but you have my thanks.” She breathed out, her hands shaking, and the blades of mercy she wielded also shaking in the pale moonlight, casting little glows off the grounds below.

The huntress nodded her head, then cast her eyes up at the dead body of the woman still atop the roof behind them.

Eileen followed her gaze and then gasped, “Viola…I didn’t think…”

The huntress cocked a thin soft brown eyebrow at her mentor in question.

“She was Gascoigne’s bride…”

The huntress still didn’t follow, but she felt her curiosity taking the lead.

Eileen’s breathing had become steadier, and she looked down at the blood-soaked grass and ground, and then back up at the huntress, her eyes shining slightly from the eye sockets of the mask.

"You must have killed Gascoigne as well then."

The huntress fell to her knees once the news had broken out. The man in the Church Garb had been Father Gascoigne; the man the little girl had mentioned as her father, whom her mother had been out searching for, and the deceased woman on the rooftop was Viola, who was Gascoigne’s wife and the mother of the girl…

Eileen pressed a warm hand on the huntress’s right shoulder, looking down at her and sighing.

"He was falling apart... I'm sure it had to be done." She spoke with confidence the huntress didn’t possess, which upset her deeply. She still had been unable to abandon her pity and grieving for not only herself, but now others. What was she to answer to the little Yharnam girl? How could she saunter up to her windowsill, watch her little shadow run up before her, expectant of good news of her mother and father’s successful, safe return? How could she, as her father’s murderer, be the one to have the gall and the temerity to even speak to her now?

"We made it with our lives... You're not bad at all." Eileen’s interruption of praise did little to appease the huntress, and she rocked a few times on her kneecaps, feeling the little gravel below scrape at her garb.

"But try to keep your hands clean...a hunter should hunt beasts." Eileen removed her hand from the huntress’s shoulder, and placed the blades of mercy back within the pockets of her dark crow feather garb.

"Leave the hunting of Hunters to me." She turned and disappeared into the night without another word, leaving the huntress by herself.

After what seemed like hours, the huntress rose slowly, and she made her way up the steps near the gate Gascoigne had been guarding. She had the key now, which had fallen off his form once she had finished him off, but she didn’t want to use the key now.

She instead headed over to the edge of the walkway, and she fell onto the rooftop behind the gravestones, kneeling to observe the bloodied corpse of Viola.

The huntress wanted to scream every profanity and lose herself almost to beastly throes of anger once she saw the red jeweled brooch on Viola’s chest near her torn out neck.

She reached down, not prepared to grab it, her hands shaking violently numerous times before she closed her eyes, turned her head to the right, and snatched the brooch off the corpse.

The rest of the huntress’s movements weren’t her own, and she found herself in another realm once she had made her way over to the window of the little girl once again. She had wanted to turn back and fling herself off the tall ladder inches away from the window many times, but she lacked courage to do what was needed, and she instead watched as the little girl approached her.

 "Hello Miss hunter. Still can’t find my mum?"

The huntress dreaded this moment. She couldn’t bear to lie to a child, so innocent and full of hopes for the world ahead of her, but she also refused to be the one to bring the horrendous news to her. Would she allow the child to be granted with the terrible knowledge that she couldn’t find solace and comfort within anyone, let alone her own father? Should she learn from such an early age that evil lurked within anyone and everyone, and she was a fool to believe the falsities of adults, for they were the most corrupt of individuals?

“Miss hunter? Are you okay?”

The huntress decided that if there was still some innocence left in this dark, cursed town, it was to remain within this little girl, and she would do anything she could to shield her innocence from this world.

She spoke with faux confidence, “No dear, I’m still searching for your parents.”

She could almost see the disappointment etched in the girl’s face.

“Oh, okay. But isn't there something I can do? Maybe mum and dad are stuck out there, waiting for me to come to them. What do you think, miss hunter?"

The huntress clutched the brooch in her clenched fist tightly, her thoughts flying about in panic. She didn’t want the little girl out on her own, but she couldn’t get her to remain in the house either; as she was running out of incense, and the night hadn’t even begun. Beasts would make quick work of the little girl, swallowing her innocence, and hopes in a single, effortless gulp. The huntress couldn’t, wouldn’t have that!

She leaned closer to the window, watching the little girl mirror her actions, speaking low so the conversation was only whispered and heard between them and them alone.

“You must go to the Oeden Chapel at once, my dear. There is a keeper there, and he will keep you safe. The strong and ever-lasting incense wards off all beasts, and you will be safe there, I assure you.” Here the huntress found herself doling out promises she couldn’t always keep, but she bit down on her tongue and pushed her thoughts away.

The girl gasped, "Yes okay, thank you very much miss hunter! I love you almost as much as mum and dad, and grandad!"

Clapping her hands, she marched gleefully away from the window.

The huntress hadn’t moved away from the windowsill in what seemed like an age. The last sentence the girl had spoken hit her like the most massive brick toll flinging itself at her, yet this was somehow far more crushing and unbearable.

The huntress felt the grief and pity swallow the rest of her emotions which encouraged her to be brave and strong, and she broke out in tears. She threw her head back and emitted a wail like that of a newborn babe, her hunter cap falling off her head and down onto the ground at her feet.

She quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, hoping and praying the little girl hadn’t heard her. Quickly, she bent down to pick up her hunter cap, and ran off back into the dark cemetery.

The huntress only stopped running when she was back upon the rooftop, sitting before Viola’s corpse, the blood drained of the cold corpse that was once her, since hours past.

The huntress held the brooch in both her hands, her chest and shoulders heaving as she sobbed and sobbed until she felt she could produce no more tears. She hiccupped and felt her heart about to burst through her ribcage as she looked down at Viola.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so very sorry,” she began, clutching the brooch so tightly in her hands, she failed to notice it cracking, “…If only I had gotten here sooner…I’m so sorry…I can only pray you will watch over your daughter and guide her with your love to safety.”

The brooch answered suddenly, cracking, and it fell away into a tiny gemstone that sat perfectly in the huntress’s palms.

The huntress gazed down at the gemstone, and watched as the last tear she could shed fell from her cheeks onto the gemstone, coating it with her sorrow and misery.

{~~~~~~}

She had thrown away her emotions into the evening, ridding herself of the last bits of her humanity and humility. She didn’t wish to be a slave to her pity and grief any longer, knowing it would only bring with it the familiar accompaniment of disappointment and sorrow. She vowed not to let her emotions guide her, as she grew in her strength, skill, and prowess.

She had been through Hemwick Charnel lane and through majority of Cathedral Ward without anyone giving her any troubles. Most who met her barely had time to study her features before the dull, cold, blood-caked blade of her hunter axe met their body.

The huntress had worked hard on shaping herself to be one of the most efficient killing machines there was to be; perfectly crafted to suit the needs of the hunt.

With a stronger weapon now in her hand, she held her saw spear up before a beastly man guarding a little lever in a cathedral she had stumbled upon as she made her way down Cathedral Ward’s left-hand staircase.

She finished the man off expertly, and pulled on the lever, wondering what it was hiding all this time before someone as bold as she could muster the courage to venture forth.

The huntress observed with cold eyes as the statue in the center of the first floor of the cathedral moved back, revealing a hole beneath it.

The huntress leapt down from the ledge to the first floor, her feet burning slightly from the intensity of the fall. Shrugging the minor weakness off, she walked down the little once-concealed staircase and eventually found herself in a very dark room, the area hugely open and not overly decorated save for the odd box, crate, or pot in the corner and near some pillars.

She lit her torch, and spun around the room, feeling danger all around her.

Her intuition had been correct, for a dark, large, vicious lycanthrope beast was charging forward towards her, claws ready and aimed at her throat.

The huntress however was faster and deadlier. She readied her hunter pistol, and fired at the beast before it could rear up on its hind legs, and she stunned it in its tracks.

The beast held its head down low and exposed, and the huntress calmly walked up to the beast, slamming her fist inside the skull and performing a most skilled visceral attack. She flung the beast back into the darkness from whence it had come, hearing the smashing and breaking of pots and crates as its body fell back against them. 

The huntress coldly walked on ahead, letting her torch guide her. She collected bits of scattered antidote lying around, and wondering how many poor, lost fools had been poisoned here, she soon noted the sight of a large door before her.

Her eyesight captured a small note dug into the fine wood with nails. The huntress silently vowed to seal coffins with the same nails within the door as she reached up and quickly tore out the nails and observed the note she held in her hands.

**THIS TOWN IS LONG ABANDONED. HUNTERS NOT WANTED HERE.**

“We’ll see about that.” She crumpled the note into a little tight ball, and flung it down at her feet.

The huntress raised her palms and pushed with all her might against the large doors, the groans and squeaks signaling the awakening of the old hinges and bolts coming to life for possibly the first time in many years.

The huntress had pushed until a gap large enough to fit her slim body had formed, and she put her torch out once she was faced with the soft glow of the evening light.

Many dead trees and foliage met her eyes first, and a few feet away from her were bonfires lit with the bodies and heads of little beast patients tied up almost in a mock crucifixion on the planks and stakes.

The huntress walked slowly and carefully past the beastly effigies, the smell of death and smoke billowing about and almost stroking her face and cheeks barely visible through her newly donned Yharnam hunter set.

The huntress had barely made it across a little bridge connecting to a wider, larger area with more little beast patients scattered about, seemingly asleep as they nestled against the large brick walls of houses and buildings, when a loud, heavy, booming voice broke through the silence like a shotgun blast. 

"You there! Hunter! Didn't you see the warning?"

It was a man, but the huntress was unable to locate his whereabouts. This deeply angered her, for she knew from his tone that he wasn’t friendly. Then again, she had long forgotten the idea and concepts of friendship since the little Yharnam girl.

The huntress decided to charge forth and ignore the man’s voice, dodging a few beasts as they lunged at her with their claws and arms raised to swipe at her.

She sliced them into a few small pieces with her saw spear, smirking once they fell into a bloodied pile at her feet.

“Turn back at once, Old Yharnam, burned and abandoned by men, is now home only to beasts. They are of no harm to those above.” He spoke continuously, his voice calling down to her from above, almost as if he were a god or a Great One.

The huntress, still not acknowledging she had even heard his voice, threw a few deadly molotovs at a few cloaked beast patients and regular beast patients as they hurriedly ran towards her on their little furry legs, their eyes glowing in the evening light with a deadly shine.

The fire worked wonders on them, and they burnt to crispy cinders, only their ashes giving way to their presence.

“Turn back, or the hunter will face the hunt.”

The huntress finally looked up at the cloudy skies, but she said nothing. While looking upwards, she ran down a staircase nearly hidden at the far right behind some odd statues, and drove her saw spear into the stomachs of a few more little beasts as they growled and hissed at her entry.

“You are a skilled hunter; adept, merciless... half-cut with blood, as the best hunters are. Which is why I must stop you.”

Before the huntress could realize what had happened, she heard first, then saw a rain of bullets pelting their way at her.

She cleverly ducked down and slid all the way to the ground from the top of a ladder she found, but she wasn’t safe for long.

She had landed in the center of another large open area, her boots tapping against the old, broken bricks, and she suddenly found herself lost in the sea of more burning effigies and bonfires.

The smoke and ashes flew into her eyes, but the Yharham hunter cap shielded her perfectly, and she wiped away at the bits that had managed to land into her thick, long eyelashes.

When she lowered her hand from her eyes, the huntress was met with the ghastly brutal sight of a darkly clad hunter who also held a saw spear in its extended form, charging at her. The hunter leapt up into the air and flew through the clouds of smoke and ash at her, the saw spear about to land a deathly blow on her head.

She leapt and dodged deftly to the side at the very last second, and the saw spear drove itself with the hunter atop it into the ground with a sickening crunch.

The huntress turned swiftly and she shot at the hunter’s back, and he cried and reared up, backing away to hide within the smoke.

“You’d take advantage of your opponent’s vulnerability?” He questioned, pulling the saw spear out from between two piles of stone and flashing it at her threateningly.

The huntress wore a dull, expressionless gaze from beneath the cap and face-cover.

“There’s no honor in a duel anymore.” She raised her pistol and shot the hunter a few times, but he quickly got out of the line of her shots every time.

The huntress felt frustration mounting in her chest, and she ran forward past the thick smoke, blades of dead, dull grass stroking the skirt of the Yharnam hunter set and boots.

The hunter backed away so far in a cowardly fashion, that the huntress had foolishly followed in her thrill of hunting, only to become a perfect target for the machine gun hunter up at the top of one of the old towers.

He fired at her quickly once he spotted her, but she hid behind a large group of statues for the time being. She wasn’t truly alone, however, for she heard the shuffling and scuffling at her feet, proceeded by rough, feverish pecking at the toes of her boots.

The huntress hissed in pain when she felt the sharp, blood-tipped beaks of three black carrion crows peck away at her feet.

The huntress inched back against the statue, not breathing to give away her position, but she noticed the crows following, their heads raised and beaks wide open as their beady eyes looked up at her with the intent to finish her off.

Suddenly, one crow flew off the ground and at her head, its strong wings beating against the sides of her head rapidly, as it growled and cawed viciously at her.

This definitely gave her away as the huntress feared it would, for more bullets were fired against the cold stone of the statue just at her side, the bullets bouncing off and some digging and locking themselves in the old stone.

“I daresay, I’ve never met a hunter as cowardly as you!” The hunter who was closer to her on the ground level spoke from somewhere closer than she had anticipated.

The huntress batted away at the crows and stepped away from the canopy of the statues, finally giving up.

Almost immediately, the bullets aimed at her and they flew through the air at her feet.

She rolled away, dodging both the firing of the gun, and the attacks of the other hunter as he flung his saw spear at her wherever she went.

She was running out of stamina as she landed on the old, creaky wooden boards and planks of a long walk-way connecting the open area she had just exited and leading up to another one where tall, abandoned buildings sat with beasts circling outside the perimeters and hiding away in tall grass.

The huntress felt the tip of the saw spear slam against her back, and she flew forward, landing on her hands and chest with a cry of pain.

She didn’t have time to recover, for the hunter aimed a fully charged attack at her, which she rolled away from at the very last minute.

The huntress knew she had to heal quickly, but she would only be able to do that once she could retreat to a safer area, if one was even available to her.

She knew also that she had to rid herself of the hunter who was shooting at her with the machine gun, first. She could easily get rid of the other hunter before her at a later time, but something within her told her the hunter with the machine gun would be a greater challenge.

Trusting her intuition, the huntress rolled back to find a tall ladder propped against a building which was located to her right. A little lantern lighting the way perched itself at the fifth ladder ring, almost enticing her to make her way up the ladder.

The huntress gazed back in front of her to find the other hunter backing off, then extending his saw spear once more. He smiled a grim smile at her from afar.

“No need to hold back, miss, he’s all yours.” With that statement of declaration uttered, he walked calmly away and disappeared into the smoke and ashes.

The huntress knew that this was the introduction to a great trap, but she was far too ireful and wrathful to obtain a position of caring. She just wanted to be done with the cheating and the shooting, once and for all.

She grabbed onto the rings of the ladder tightly and proceeded upwards, each step she took and each placement of her footing growing harsher and more death-fueled. She felt the dress of the bottom half of the hunter set swish and sway about as she stood to face a small wooden platform. On the left-hand side sat another ladder propped against the tower that the machine gun hunter was more than likely based at the top of, and on the right, was a short pathway and entryway to another building, with a cloaked beast patient with its back to the huntress.

The huntress ignored the creature and instead made her way up the second ladder, feeling out of breath, but determined enough to conjure up the energy for a battle.

She made the way up past windows and ledges until she spied the top of the ladder, and the boot-covered feet of the hunter.

He turned and his feet soon were directly in front of her, as he stood, ready and waiting for her next move.

The huntress climbed all the way up and finally righted herself to stand before her new nemesis.

The hunter she faced was a man approximately middle-aged, for he had a few scars and deep laugh-lines around his mouth and lips. He wore a white bandage over his right eye, while the other peered darkly at her. He had short black hair, and was dressed in a silvery grey Ashen Hunter set. He held over his shoulder-in a strap-a large stake driver which fitted over his right hand, and wore on his slightly stubbled face a grey Dutch beard. He held in his left hand a deadly Hunter Blunderbuss, the nozzle aimed at the huntress.

The huntress didn’t move for a long time, and she simply met the hunter’s glare in a challenge. Many silent minutes etched by, before the hunter finally spoke up and killed the painful silence.

“Who the devil are you?” His voice was barely above a whisper, the deep tenor tone resonating up from the bottom of his diaphragm up to his sternum and forth from his thin lips.

The huntress did a mock curtsey. “I’m Yuvaine, hunter of hunters.”

The hunter didn’t even smirk or move a muscle, he continued glaring at her from the eye plainly visible to the huntress. Below them, growls and whines of beasts stretched on, as if begging and pleading for the hunters to begin dueling.

The hunter took a half-step back, and grabbed a heavy, large gatling gun, lifting it with such ease the huntress nearly felt her stomach bottoming out in fear. Perhaps she hadn’t selected her battle effectively and appropriately. She had been in the nasty habit lately of biting off more than she could chew, but the huntress knew it was far too late to turn back now or plead for mercy.

“It matters not, you’re a beast hunter, despite what you claim,” he raised the weapon at her pointedly, “…I warned you numerous times, yet you chose to press on.”

Yuvaine withdrew her saw spear, cursing the smaller weapon in comparison to the old hunter’s.

“Your warning means little to me; I aim to finish you off and proudly hoist your severed head upon a wooden stake where it belongs!” She raced forward, spear ready and aimed at him, only to have him shoot the blunderbuss at her, which stunned her.

He backhanded her roughly across the face, and she flew backwards, landing roughly onto the cold hard ground.

“You know not whom you speak to.” He dropped the gatling gun and instead switched back to the stake driver.

“I feel this is far more appropriate for the likes of a scoundrel such as yourself.” He casually walked over to her, grabbing her with his free hand, and pulling her back to her feet to face him.

Yuvaine was inches away from the male hunter, and she could only stare at him with her mouth wide open in shock and pain. His uncovered eye bore a black pupil, but the shine and the light within them found normally in anyone’s eyes were long gone and dead.

“Who are you?” The huntress gasped, unable to tear her gaze from this man’s sight.

“Djura, though that is of no concern or business of yours.” He explained softly, before pulling his hand back to dig the stake driver into her heart.

Yuvaine turned quickly to the side just in time, but that didn’t stop the stake driver from driving itself forth into her hip.

She screamed in a painful cry, and her hands involuntary came up and punched Djura hard in the nose.

The momentary distraction had worked, for Djura cursed loudly, and let her go. She fell back down to the floor, her blood squirting up in a small stream as it poured forth from the inflicted wound.

Djura touched his nose briefly, and wiped away a few drops of blood emitted from his nostril. He laughed a sickening, dark laugh, and peered down at the huntress.

“I must say, I first took you for a man. You don’t attack and face your opponents as a woman would.”

The huntress backed away as he approached, her vision going blurry as she lost more and more blood.

“It’s such a pity you had to stumble upon my territory.”

He lunged at her, the stake driver pointed keenly at her. She reclined further, her back scraping along the rough stones of the top of the tower, until she felt them no more. She had moved backwards until she had run out of space, and she was sent flying downwards from the top of the tower.

The huntress felt the force of gravity engulfing her, swallowing her whole, and she tried thinking of anything other than the soon-to-be-sickening splatter of her organs and blood against the wooden platform down below.

Luck was on her side, however, for one of her belt straps caught on a ladder ring, followed by her boot strap, and her fall was slowed down immensely. Her boot strap came undone, and wrapped itself at the last minute around the middle half of the ladder.

Yuvaine gasped as she hung upside down midway down the ladder, blood rushing upwards into her head and face, bringing warmth to her head.

“I should think you still have dreams?”

She craned her neck upwards, causing the cap to fall off her head, but she wasn’t able to see Djura. He probably thought he had killed her off, and Yuvaine decided to allow him with that false knowledge for the time being.

“…Well the next time you dream... give some thought, to the hunt.” He coolly finished his musings, and the huntress heard the soft patter of his footsteps as he moved away from the ladder towards the machine gun seat once again ready to protect and guard Old Yharnam.

Yuvaine waited for many minutes before she sat upward, wincing in burning pain, as she pulled out a knife and cut the boot strap off the ladder ring. She crashed down onto the wooden platform, but quickly regained her bearings as she made her way across the little platform past the cloaked beast, limping away into the new building she hadn’t explored yet, seeking shelter and refuge to nurse her wounds.

{~~~~~~}

The huntress had taken her time until nightfall to address the wounds, applying gauze wherever there was a tear, bruise, or cut. She had located a small room among the many worn-out, dilapidated buildings, and after slaying a little beast guarding the room, she was able to head beneath a circular, winding stairwell for rest.

Her only companion had been an emaciated corpse, but she found she didn’t care until she was herself again. She laid down on her side, drowning herself in good blood until her eyes grew weary and she lost herself to the welcoming slumber she so desperately craved.

When she huntress woke again, it was nightfall, and she gently pushed open the hunter garb to study the progress of her wounds.

Due to the magic of the blood, the huntress’s wounds for the most part had closed and stitched themselves back up, but she still felt she had no stamina within to venture out and attempt at killing Djura the hunter.

She knew she was for once outmatched in strength and skill, and there was no way the huntress could win against him in hand-to-hand-combat. She despised admitting this to herself, but the huntress for once was caught in a block. She knew she had to progress forward, but she also knew that Djura and his younger ally would never let her pass through without snatching her life away first.

She had to carefully regard and study her opponent, which was something novel to the huntress. She had gloated far too often for how much of a challenge it was not to end the lives of the monsters and beasts in Central Yharnam and Cathedral Ward, but she now was faced with a foe so great that she wanted to rush back out there and end his life immediately, even if it meant her own would also come to an end.

Obsessed with being triumphant over all things, Yuvaine decided upon an entirely new approach altogether. She had recalled the slightly amused tone in Djura’s voice once he had commented on her being a woman. Perhaps the old hunter was more lenient to a gentle woman? No doubt, Yuvaine’s violent nature and maddening past would have to be kept at bay, but she was going to exit Old Yharnam and pass through, one way or another.

Leaving no room for objections supplied by her conscience, the huntress dressed back in her Yharnam hunter clothes once again, and lit her torch before setting off into the night.

{~~~~~~}

She had taken all the time necessary to climb up the ladder, practicing and phrasing together what she would say to him once she was at the top of the tower. She heard crows and beasts snoring in the night, as if taunting her with the notion that she wouldn’t be successful this round either. She ignored her pessimistic musings, and climbed the last few rings until she was at the top of the deadly tower once more.

Djura turned around from his seat behind the machine gun, and he glared at the huntress as he previously had.

“The makings of a true hunter, this lass! Very well, then there's no need to hold back! The beasts will feast tonight!” He raised the stake driver high, the tip slicing upwards through the air and making a deafening “swoosh” noise.

Yuvaine held her arms high in front of her in a surrender.

“No wait! Please!” She cried in the most innocent tone she could conjure up.

This seemed to catch the old hunter off-guard, and he ceased his movements, visible eye slightly widening.

Yuvaine tore off the hunter cap, her wavy brown hair spilling down from beneath the cover and curtaining her white skin. She dropped all her weapons before the hunter’s feet, and backed off with her hands still raised up.

“I surrender, I’ve not come back looking for a fight!” She whispered apologetically, lowering her eyes to the ground in a submissive fashion.

Djura was lost in thought, seemingly, for he lowered the arm wielding the stake driver completely. This would have been the perfect opportunity to attack, but the huntress wanted to take in the trill of the chase and the hunt. She wanted to gain the old hunter’s trust before she finally turned on him. She desperately yearned to observe the look of shock on his face in his final moments alive. Only then would she have the ultimate upper hand revenge.

Djura looked intently at Yuvaine, then shook his head once to the right. “What brings you to Old Yharnam, then?” He took a step towards her, waiting for her reply, his shoulders spread broadly outward, as if judging her answer before she had even offered one.

Yuvaine pulled her hands back and hung them loosely at her sides, her fingers sweating from the heat her gloves gathered, but also from nervousness.

“I…I only wish to pass.” She offered, looking back up at the old hunter, her heart clenching tightly in fear. Would he buy the answer?

The old hunter scratched his head beneath the cap briefly and awkwardly. It would appear as if no one had ever bothered conducting a conversation with him, for he knew not how to respond.

The huntress allowed him to have his awkward moment until she could take it no longer.

“I understand your warning, now. Forgive my brazen intrusion earlier. I had no idea of your work here.” She wrung her hands nervously, then stopped, fearful he would read far too much into the innocent act.

Djura placed a finger over his lips and hummed, deep in thought.

“Hmmm, do you now?” He inquired, taking a few more steps closer to her.

The huntress fought against the part of her that urged her to move away from him. She had to earn his trust, she kept reminding herself.

“Yes, I do. I only wish to pass through here, but you seem to hold a different agenda for any trespasser here.”

The old hunter dropped his hand from his mouth and snorted rudely.

“Don’t take me for a fool, madam. I used to be a beast hunter too. I am far too familiar with the ways of the hunt, and I’ll have none of it here in Old Yharnam.” He circled her, eyeing her up and down accusingly.

“I apologize, I offended you?” She asked gently, peering at him through her thick eyelashes.

The old hunter paused in his circling, swallowing thickly at her.

“I've no interest in matters further up, but you must not disturb this place. The beasts do not venture above, and mean no harm to anyone. If you still insist on hunting them, then I will hunt you first. You understand me?”

The huntress wanted to bash him over the head with a Kirk Hammer, but for now, she agreed, nodding once firmly at him.

He inched closer to her, wedging an index finger under her chin and gently raising her head up until her eyes were level with his.

“I said: Do you understand me, huntress?”

It was her turn to swallow, but she didn’t move her head away or break eye contact.

“My name is Yuvaine.”

“Do you understand me, Yuvaine?” The way the old hunter had breathed out her name caused her heart to flutter, but she assumed it was more so out of fear and intimidation.

“Yes, I do understand. I’ll spare the beasts of Old Yharnam, then.”

The two skilled hunters stared each other down until finally, Djura removed his finger from beneath Yuvaine’s shapely chin reluctantly and slowly.

He smiled a soft smile which brought his laugh lines to life as they creased his slightly tanned skin.

“Yes, very good.”

{~~~~~~}

They had exchanged friendly conversation until the wee hours of the dawn, with the old hunter explaining the mechanisms and functions of his weapons proudly and boastfully to the huntress as he demonstrated how they operated into some fields far down below.

They laughed and he taught her new gestures, brushing off his shoulders and cape with grace and finesse, and chortling heartily when she attempted to imitate him with a light swirl.

The huntress nearly forgot for a split second that they were still sworn enemies, but her thoughts were on top of the hunt, still. She aimed to keep him entertained long enough for him to turn his back so she could drive her sharp spear into it. Yes, that would be most ideal.

Djura suddenly yawned and stretched his hands upward, his eyes appearing to be exhausted.

“How quickly time flies when one is amused, eh?”

Yuvaine smiled and nodded, “Yes, indeed.”

Djura was about to speak when footsteps approached them.

Yuvaine whipped around to find the other younger male hunter aiming his pistol at her head with a nasty sneer painted on his features. His charred hunter outfit flew about wildly in the morning wind, and the dark circles under his eyes gave way to how exhausted he must have been from his nightly guarding of Old Yharnam. Still, he was prepared for a battle.

Yuvaine backed away until she hit Djura’s strong, firm chest, and she blushed slightly, moving back away from his form.

“Be still, Byron, she’s a friend.” Djura stated, moving around Yuvaine towards his ally.

When he passed her by, she noticed he also wore a blush on his cheeks.

The hunter called Byron didn’t lower his pistol, not even when Djura placed a strong hand over it and pushed it down with force.

“You must be going senile in your old age, Djura. You can’t trust anyone who waltzes in here and claims to be friendly!” He spat at the old hunter.

Djura growled deeply in his throat and grabbed the hunter’s cloak collar roughly, yanking him forward.

Quickly thinking about the best way to gain both hunters' trust and respects, Yuvaine dove forward and wedged herself between the two before they could engage in fighting. She stretched her arms and placed a barrier between Djura and Byron, pushing them back a few meters.

“Gentlemen, please! This is beastly conduct!”

Byron glared ahead at Djura, and Djura brushed off some dust and dirt from his shoulders, but kept his eyes trained on Byron nevertheless.

“If we behave this way, we’re no more than beasts. We mustn’t allow that to happen, else we will be lost entirely.” Yuvaine continued, looking back and forth between the two hostile hunters, refusing to step down and away unless they were calm once again.

Byron looked down at Yuvaine and snorted, “Who then, are you?”

“Her name is Yuvaine, and you are to show her proper respect and manners, Byron. She surrendered her weapons, and she is sparing the beasts here.” Djura answered before Yuvaine could.

She slowly turned her head back to him, only to find him smiling warmly at her, a small blush creeping on his cheeks once more.

Byron sighed, “Very well, I’m not going to claim I trust her entirely, for that will only be granted in due time. She’s in your hands, and she is your responsibility, Djura.”

Djura nodded, still smiling down at Yuvaine. “Fair enough, old friend.”

“I bid you farewell, Yuvaine.” Byron gave a small nod of the head at her direction, then made his way over to the machine gun, taking the seat.

Yuvaine cocked a thin eyebrow questioningly.

“Byron keeps watch during the day sometimes, while I rest up. We have been taking turns for quite some time now.” Djura walked over and stood by Yuvaine’s side, gesturing with an extended hand at the ladder.

“Come, it’s about time we took our rest, too.”

Yuvaine walked to the ladder, turning and heading down the first few rings, before stopping and gazing up at Djura.

“What is it?” He asked, his tone almost appearing to coo at her.

“Thank you…” Yuvaine breathed softly, offering him a warm smile.

Byron scoffed from behind them, but Djura ignored it.

“Rest, and eat, you look famished.” He watched her as she descended the ladder, his eyes following her until she had walked inside an empty building and out of plain sight.

{~~~~~~}

Yuvaine lost track of how much time had passed by before Byron began trusting her. At first, the young hunter seemed almost too eager to head down the ladder when she climbed up, ready to speak to Djura for another day. Eventually, he stuck around for a few minutes before pardoning himself, then, she found he stuck around longer.

Byron had a good personality, and he soon began joking and laughing with Yuvaine and Djura as the trio sat about observing from their high spot above all of Old Yharnam.

Yuvaine cared for both the hunters as equals, but it became apparent to her that her heart held a special, soft spot for Djura more so than Byron, and she sometimes caught herself anticipating Byron’s departure so she could chat with Djura alone.

She felt slightly disgusted with herself for toying with Djura and his feelings and trust this way, but a hunt was a hunt, no matter the forms in which it took place. However, it didn’t take long before Yuvaine slowly began forgetting her purpose of befriending Djura in the first place, and she found herself growing more unwilling to carry out his death as time wore on. He was growing on her, and she was showing weakness once again as she had with the Yharnam girl. History often repeated itself for the huntress, and she felt this would be no different, and she knew she had to turn on the old hunter eventually, but she couldn’t.

Each day that passed, she put the ghastly deed off another day, silently promising herself that the following day would be the day to take up the hunt, then the next, and so on. Soon, days morphed into weeks, and the huntress still postponed finishing off the old hunter. Perhaps she didn’t need to! He wasn’t harming her or anyone else! Why commit such a crime? The huntress felt more confused and pained the more she pondered it, so she let it go for the time being, and instead decided to enjoy the newfound friendship she shared with Djura.

It was one lazy, warm evening that Yuvaine sat on the seat of the large machine gun with Djura beside her, nibbling on a loaf of bread Byron had offered him. The old hunter had divided the bread in two, but he gave the larger half to Yuvaine.

They sat eating in silence, watching the beasts scurry about, playing with each other as they paraded about, swinging their arms and rolling around in the dirt and grass, purring and growling in a language only they could understand.

Yuvaine felt she was being watched, and she turned to her right to catch Djura staring at her, but then he quickly turned away, looking out ahead at the sky instead.

Yuvaine smiled, “What’s on your mind, Djura?” She inquired softly, wiping off some crumbs from her lips.

Djura opened his mouth and inhaled, but paused, then abruptly exhaled, his chest caving in and he offered a faint laugh. “I sometimes find myself at a loss for words when I’m in your presence, Yuvaine. You’re the first hunter I’ve come across who understands my true nature and purpose here.”

Yuvaine placed her loaf of bread down onto her lap and brushed her loose brown hair strands behind her ears neatly.

“I thought Byron understands?”

Djura shrugged, still looking at the distance ahead. “He does, but it’s not the same feeling I get. He’s been a good friend to me, but we often find ourselves silent companions.”

Yuvaine nodded, “I understand. I share the same relationship with Eileen.”

Djura turned and raised an eyebrow at her. “Eileen the Crow? You’ve met her?”

She gave a small half-smile. “Why, yes. She’s been awfully good to me, Djura.”

Djura sighed and took off his cap, his black hair slightly worn down and matted from the heat and moisture in the air, and from the cap.

“So it was you who killed Gascoigne. Did you also finish off Henryk?”

Yuvaine felt all the color leaving her face. How could he have possibly known?

She gaped at him, unsure of how to respond. “I…um…I-”

Djura threw his head back and laughed deeply, wrinkles forming around the sides of his eyes.

“I hear of matters above, it shouldn’t surprise you,” he tore off another piece of bread, but didn’t eat it as he continued laughing, “…it matters not, I wasn’t particularly fond of either hunter.”

Yuvaine sighed deeply, grateful to hear this news. “Why not?”

Djura played with the bit of bread, watching it crumble apart in his fingers as he tossed and rolled it back and forth between his thumb, index, and middle finger.

“Henryk was a most taciturn man; it was quite a challenging feat to get him to utter a full sentence. He got along well enough with Gascoigne, so we all left them alone. They were quite the pair, you know. They fought well alongside each other for many moons.”

Yuvaine felt the sickening return of pity once more, but she bit it down and looked down at the grounds below.

“I see.”

“I figured they’d both go mad together, so I’m not taking the loss to heart. I’m sure they’re more at peace, now anyway.” Djura concluded, and shoved the bite into his mouth.

Yuvaine disagreed. She had been there, after all, and she had seen the way Gascoigne had suffered; transforming into a blood-starved monster, a shell, a version of himself he couldn’t ever bear showing his daughters and family! How could Djura be so blind and declare such an empty statement?

Feeling her blood boiling in her veins, she tossed the loaf of bread down onto the ground angrily, earning a gasp from Djura.

“What is it?”

She stood up angrily, turning away from him and walking towards the ladder.

She felt Djura stand up as well, and he followed her quickly.

“Yuvaine? What’s happened?” He asked, reaching a hand out and gently grabbing her hand.

She roared wildly and tore her hand out of his, rounding on him so forcefully her wavy hair whipped over her face and hung around her eyes.

“I have no more need to keep the company of a damn hypocrite!” She cried, pushing her hair back so she could glare at him with fire burning up in her green eyes.

Djura’s jaw dropped. “Hypocrite?”

“Yes! You sir, are a hypocrite!” She accused, pointing a long, skinny gloved finger at him, nearly jabbing his nose with it.

Djura growled and threw his hands up in the air defeatedly. “Of all accusations!”

“Yes! You defend these beasts of Old Yharnam with your very life, as they were once people, and you live on to remind all those who challenge this, yet you cannot comprehend that Gascoigne too was once human!” She shrieked, feeling her cheeks burning up with the same intensity the fires scattered about in Old Yharham had.

Djura gaped at her, then frowned darkly, his eyes narrowing at her. “Gascoigne was a mass murderer, madam. I think you’re forgetting this fact.”

Yuvaine laughed emptily, “I don’t care! I was there to bear witness; you weren’t! He was in much pain!”

Djura turned his back to her, pacing slightly. “Oh yes, such pain and anguish the man must have been in when he split his wife open!”

“He didn’t know any better! Just like these beasts who prowl Old Yharnam don’t! What’s the difference here, Djura? A beast is a beast, a man is a man!”

“ALL MEN ARE BEASTS!” Djura suddenly roared at the top of his lungs, turning back and towering over Yuvaine.

She froze, standing rooted to the spot, eyes meeting his.

Djura breathed heavily for many long minutes until he closed his eyes and sighed.

“Forgive me…I let my anger get the better of me. It won’t happen again.”

Yuvaine’s eyes never left Djura’s. “Think about who it is you defend, Djura. Gascogine was falling apart. He lost everything and everyone dearest to him. He’ll never see his wife again, he’ll never see his children again. I hunted him; I never gave him a chance to right his wrongs. Can you imagine suffering such a fate?” She explained slowly, hoping he would understand and forget the anger and vengeance.

Djura placed his hands on his hips, but said nothing.

Yuvaine took this as a chance to continue. “Henryk came looking for him, only to find his corpse. It’s no wonder the man went mad. He lost his best friend, his companion. Are you telling me you wouldn’t desire to spill the blood of the one who hunted Byron down?”

“Of course I would! I’d stop at nothing!” Djura responded with a firm nod, eyes turning darker.

“Then how can you judge Gascoigne and Henryk any differently?” She questioned.

Djura was unable to answer her question. He opened his mouth and tried to formulate a response many times before he finally closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

“It is late, you must go.” Sighing one final time, he turned, crossing his strong arms over his broad chest, standing tall as he turned his back to her.

She mirrored his sigh, feeling defeated and exhausted. She watched Byron making his way to the bottom of the ladder.

“As you wish, Djura.”

{~~~~~~}

Needless to say, things had been different from that point on. Yuvaine had visited Djura still, but he wasn’t as talkative as he once had been. He simply regarded her presence with either a small nod of the head, or a grunt. He answered her questions with monosyllables, leaving her frustration and annoyance increasing.

She originally allowed him to stew and have his space, but one afternoon, the silence grew unbearable and too much for her to handle.

Yuvaine sat crossed legged by the machine gun’s seat, her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap, and she gazed up at Djura as he looked down, guarding the beasts.

“What’s your story, Djura? How did you come to be this way?” She asked in a neutral tone of voice that threatened to spill into anger at any given moment.

Djura didn’t face her, but spoke anyway.

“I told you, I was once a hunter, like yourself.”

“Then what happened?” She asked urgently, clearly not satisfied with his answer.

“I grew sick of what I was doing, and what my comrades were doing. I don’t possess the glee nor the pleasure others do during hunt.”

Yuvaine didn’t move, feeling her heart growing heavy with turmoil. She had made a huge error in her original judgement of this man. She found she had shared much in common with him the more he spoke, and this made defeating him an even greater challenge. How could she rid the world of someone who was so much like her, that he could be her twin? To defeat him, she had to defeat herself.

“These beasts are not beasts; they’re people. I don’t find any rapture in slaughtering innocent children and women, despite what Ludwig and Gehrman say. I’m not going to simply become a mindless soldier who doesn’t pause for thought and question ‘why?’.”

“When the frail of heart join the fray, the hunter, becomes the hunted. I won’t allow this to become me.”

“So you hid out here, then?” Yuvaine asked, turning her head and looking away from Djura, unable to bear how much more alike they really were. She had had her innocence torn away as well once she saw how vile and hideous the hunt’s effects were on people, and she had nearly fallen prey to her own beast hood before she met Djura. How he had changed her…

Djura nodded, “I did. There wasn’t any place I felt welcome, so I made Old Yhanam my home, and then Byron came along, much like you; ready to hunt here.”

“You spared him…”

“I didn’t want to, but he understood and caught on quickly, so I trained and befriended him. We’re of no harm to those above; we simply wish to be left alone.”

Yuvaine felt her heart being split into two. What had she done, coming in here? She had been expecting a cruel seduction and murder, but in the end, she had only found wisdom and understanding of a kindred spirit. She had been such a fool to underestimate her fellow hunters!

She shivered when a strong breeze flew past her.

“I wish to be left alone, too.” She said more to herself than to Djura.

Djura’s posture stiffened, and his shoulders bunched up at this.

“Then take your leave and get out.” He spoke harshly, still not facing her.

“I beg your pardon?” She hissed, standing up abruptly.

“Get out!” He screamed down below, catching Byron’s attention as he gazed up at the tower.

Without any further protests, Yuvaine backed away, heading down the ladder, cursing the old hunter until she reached the bottom of the ladder.

{~~~~~~}

Two days later, a heavy thunderstorm and rainfall had visited Old Yharnam one night. The huntress huddled in her usual spot in the stairwell, a blanket she had found in one of the abandoned homes draped around her shoulder and legs as she shivered. She listened to the howls and cries of the wind as it blew in through the holes and cracks in the chipped wood and bricks, drenching her in icy cold water and wind.

She hadn’t visited or spoken to Djura in the two days she had been off by herself, and she found she didn’t want to. He hadn’t been half the gentleman she assumed he was, and she felt he had made a big fool out of her the entire time. She had been indeed raving mad to assume he’d be her friend and comrade! He was nothing but an empty-headed hunter!

Yuvaine was so wrapped in her thoughts and angry musings that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching her, stopping once they were at her feet before her.

She looked to see Djura sitting down in front of her, a lantern placed down between them, offering a small glow and a tiny bit of warmth.

Yuvaine glared at Djura, shivering violently. “What do you want?”

“I came to make amends; I shouldn’t have behaved the way I did.” Djura pushed down on his hunter cap, the brim covering his bandaged eyes almost shamefully in essence.

Yuvaine rolled her eyes, “You behaved exactly how I suspected you would, it wasn’t shocking at all.”

Djura looked down at the lantern. “I’m sorry…I hope you’re not too cold…”

Yuvaine angrily threw the blanket at him, standing up against the wall.

“You don’t care! Stop with the pretense!” She hissed, her adrenaline supplying enough heat to cause her shivering to cease.

Djura growled and threw the blanket aside, standing tall and placing his hands on either side of Yuvaine’s head on the wall as he leaned before her, his hot breath against her lips and nose.

“I’m no beast!” He spat, his fingers curling like claws on either side of her, trapping her before his body.

Yuvaine stood up straighter, refusing to back down.

“Oh yes you are! You haven’t gotten any sense left in that head! You only defend these creatures as some misbegotten sense of guilt and in a vain attempt to seek penance for all the blood you’ve no doubt spilled by your own hands!” She jutted her chin out at him, hearing loud thunder echoing across the sky, followed by the rumbling feeling of it against the walls and beneath her feet, deep within the earth.

Djura scoffed, smirking at her as if she were a child who didn’t know any better. “Spoken like a true novice. You’re much too immature and foolish, it’s amazing to me how you’ve survived for this long.”

Yuvaine pushed against his chest with all her might, but he didn’t budge a foot back; he stood rock still.

“Weak, as well.” He laughed softly, a hand running up against her face, playing with a wet hair strand, brushing it away from her forehead.

“Don’t you touch me!” She screamed, slapping his hand away violently.

"I should have pushed you off the tower the moment I first met you." He stated softly, part of him sounding like he didn't mean it truthfully and sincerely.

Djura leaned in so close to her that their foreheads touched each other softly.

“Tell me then, did you think you could right your wrongs, by playing the role of father and mother to Gascoigne’s daughter? Where did you hide Viola’s brooch? How did you feel when you held it for the first time in your hands after you’d spilled the blood of her faithful husband and father of her children? Did you feel you did a good deed?”

Yuvaine felt her chin quivering as a few tears fell from her eyes, beyond her control. She slapped Djura as hard as she could across the face.

The sound echoed in the small stairwell, followed by her gasp of shock. She had once again allowed her emotions to make her decision for her…perhaps Djura was right about her immaturity.

Djura looked off to the side, not moving as his face turned slightly red from where she hit him. More lightning and thunder flashed from the various gaps in the wood and brick of the old building, and it did nothing to ease the tension between the two hunters.

Yuvaine was about to apologize to him, when Djura grabbed her roughly, pulling her away from the wall. She felt his strong, warm hands wrap themselves around the back of her neck, and before she could think properly, she felt his warm lips descend upon her own.

Completely taken by shock, the huntress didn’t move for many long minutes as the old hunter kissed her softly at first, then with a growing passion, like a starving man. His hands flew to her wet hair, stroking and caressing it softly as his lips moved over her closed ones slowly and sensually.

She had stopped breathing, unsure of how else to proceed. Yuvaine had instructed herself to always think like a predator; be ruthless, unmerciful, unforgiving, unkind. She never wanted to fall prey to feelings and emotions before, but since meeting Djura, feelings and emotions came to her involuntarily, and she found she no longer wanted to be the cold-blooded huntress she vowed to be.

She closed her eyes, sighing contentedly, and her hands came up to cup Djura’s warm face as she kissed him deeply. She opened her mouth to welcome his warm tongue as it stroked and met her own with a few shy strokes. There were far too many barriers between them, and she wanted to be rid of them all. Yuvaine tore off her gloves, discarding them onto the floor, and she nearly cried in pleasure when she was finally able to feel the roughness and softness of Djura’s face.

She let her hands explore his body, and she moved them upwards to push his cap off his head, her fingers finally running through his hair.

Djura pressed her against the wall suddenly, moving his kisses away from her lips over to outline and trace her jaw. He nibbled gently on her earlobe while a warm hand moved along her shoulders downward until it rested on one of her breasts.

Unable to control herself, Yuvaine moaned passionately in his ear. This seemed to break the spell, for Djura precipitously let her go, moving himself off and away from her.

He cleared his throat quickly, taking a few steps back, straightening his clothes for a few moments before he bent down and swiped his cap off the ground.

Yuvaine stood rooted by the wall, gazing at him with awe and shock on her face, her eyebrows furrowing after a moment in confusion.

Djura cupped a hand beneath his chin, covering his grey beard with it for a while, then gazed at Yuvaine, but rather than meet her eyes, he looked at the wall behind her.

“I can’t do anything, anymore. All I think of is you! You’ve bewitched me entirely, you siren!”

Yuvaine gaped at him, still unable to comment back.

“I no longer dream, for if I do, my dreams are flooded by your face! Your face-”, he paused, inhaling sharply, then breathing out as he closed his eyes, “…there's nothing more horrific than a hunt. One day you will see.”

He turned, and began making his way out the building, when Yuvaine finally gained control of her body enough to reach forward and grab his shoulder gently.

“Please, Djura…”

He stopped, and held her hand in his own warmly, then kissed the back of it, eyes never leaving hers.

“It's time I got going, but first, a farewell gift. I have no use for it anyway.” He reached into his hunter garb and brought out a unique item she had never seen before.

He grabbed her hand and lowered it, opening her palm before him, and then placed the item in it and closed her palm into a small fist, his fingers stroking her skin softly and pleasantly.

“Djura?” Her small voice did strange things to his heart, but he didn’t dare reveal it to her.

“You have the whole night to dream, make the best of it.” He sighed softly, and finally exited the building.

Yuvaine waited until she could no longer hear Djura’s footsteps before she lowered her head and opened her palm. In it sat a small, old badge, with a faded crest. Yuvaine lowered herself down to the floor where the bright lantern sat. She turned it closer to the item, and squinted until she could read it.

**_POWDER KEG HUNTER BADGE_ **

She fingered the chain link of the badge that had no doubt hung over his neck against his chest, and she brought it up to her nose and smelled Djura. She closed her eyes and began sobbing as she fell to her knees.

Outside, the wind and rain picked up, howling and crying with her as the night wore on.

She sobbed until she could no longer sob, just the same way she had the night she learned of what she had done to orphan Viola and Gascoigne’s daughters. This pain, however, was even greater.

The huntress hadn’t wanted to fall in love, but she had. She had no desire to hunt anyone or anything anymore; she just wanted to abandon the bloodlust, and perhaps she could make Djura feel the same…perhaps-as she dreamed-they could guard Old Yharnam together…

Wiping the tears from her face, she looked out of the hole in the building that had been blasted apart by the machine gun, no doubt, and waited for a few minutes, hoping the rain would die down.

When it didn’t, she ventured out, holding the blanket over her head as she held the lantern in her hands, letting it guide the way over to the top of the tower.

With love and adoration in her heart, she climbed the ladder swiftly, nearly slipping and falling a few times, but she finally made it to the top.

“Djura?” She stood and gazed about, but the machine gun seat was empty. In fact, the entire area had been completely empty.

It wasn’t unlike Djura to sometimes abandon his post, so the huntress walked towards the far ledge by the machine gun, looking around to spot Djura. She searched and searched down far below, looking past slumbering beasts and statues, until her eyes landed on a large puddle.

She craned her neck lower, squinting deeply until she was able to make out a dark shape by the puddle.

The huntress raised the lantern, eyes focused intently on the shape, until she realized what it was. She felt her heart freezing in her chest, and her fingers loosened their hold on the lantern. It fell to the ground with a deafening “CRASH”, and she screamed at the top of her lungs until she could scream no more.

She turned and hurriedly climbed down the ladder, three rings at a time, screaming until her throat felt raw. She screamed and cried until she ran past the walkway into the first large open area where the puddle was, nearly running into a few bonfires and effigies in the process.

She crashed to her knees, tears and rain flooding her vision, but she had already identified him.

Djura’s dead body lay by her knees, broken and battered, his eyes clenched tightly shut, blood pouring out of the sides of his lips and onto his chin. Yuvaine soon realized it wasn’t a water puddle he had been in; but it was his own blood.

She cradled the body in her hands, wailing and sobbing like a lost child, then she looked up to see Byron standing still right beside Djura’s feet.

She screamed even louder, holding Djura’s broken head and neck in her hands, tears dripping from her chin to the top of his blood-caked head.

“He flung himself from the tower, I saw it,” Byron began, then he grabbed a few stones and began outlining a small grave for the fallen old hunter as he dug slowly, head hanging low.

“…I spoke to him earlier this afternoon, he could talk of nothing but you! You did this to him!”

Byron pushed aside some dirt as he dug faster, as if digging would prevent him too from being destroyed and consumed by his anger and sadness.

“He was very fond of you, Yuvaine, and that’s what destroyed him in the end. He cared for you far too much, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from doing what he knew was necessary.”

Yuvaine rocked the corpse in her arms back and forth, sniffling and sobbing as the rain drenched her from head to toe.

“We will give him the proper burial he deserves, then you will leave here, as you’re no longer welcome in Old Yharnam. You bring nothing but pain and sorrow, along with sad memories.” Byron finished digging and knelt down beside Yuvaine, rubbing her back in comfort.

“Please don’t ever return here, Yuvaine. For if you do, I’ll have no choice but to kill you. Please understand this.”

She looked at him sadly, and nodded once, then allowed him to gently ease the lifeless Djura out of her arms, but never from her mind and heart.

{~~~~~~}

The dawn didn’t bring anything pleasant to the hunter and huntress. She began packing, gathering her weapons and fallen items neatly into sacks, and he had taken up his post by the sides of the beast he swore to protect out of respect for his fallen mentor and friend.

The huntress had come to Old Yharnam expecting to best the most skilled hunter she had met, yet she had found familiarity and love instead. She had loved a seldom few people, and she vowed never ever to fall prey to the comforts and games that love played, for everyone and anyone she loved or came to cherish always ended up dead.

She looked at the clear sky of Old Yharnam, observing a few crows as they flew about, pecking at each other as their feathers fell and covered the grounds. She shifted her eyes to the top of the tower, eyeing the lone machine gun as it sat gazing down at all of Old Yharnam. She could almost see the old hunter at the seat, his stake driver by his side, and blunderbuss ready to engage in warfare.

She smiled, recalling the fondest memories-however few they were-of the people she had met through her journey. Placing the Powder Keg hunter badge proudly around her neck, she turned, walking down the wooden platform, ignoring the growls and howls of the beasts who would no doubt accompany her through her journey out of Old Yharnam.

She could almost hear Djura speak to her then:

_"What is it? Surely I need not repeat myself!”_

She smiled, face filled with renewed hope, taking one last look at the top of the tallest tower.

_“Go, I say."_

She opened the music box the young girl had given her, reliving the tune one last time before closing it and tucking it away.

She disappeared into the shadows of the building.

**Author's Note:**

> As they say, there are no happy endings in Bloodborne. This was definitely my most depressing work yet :(


End file.
